To Rise Eternal
by KindredHistorian
Summary: Our favorite vampire historian, Beckett, finds himself investigating an infernalist cult that murders young, pregnant women. Is this just another group of bored Kindred hunting kine for sport? Or is it more than this? Would this change the world as we know it? I do not own Vampire the Masquerade. I await reviews.


The roar of the thunder seemed like a nuclear explosion to the superhuman hearing of the Gangrel. The vampire heard it a million times before in his long unlife yet somehow, it seemed… different that night, louder, angrier. The rain fell upon him and, despite drenching him completely, it wasn't that much of a problem as was the thunder. Almost no one was on the streets, except one or two bums entering and exiting some of the old apartment blocks. _No one but the most disreputable of fellows wanders the streets at this hour, on this weather,_ Beckett thought. He smiled. It was a _disreputable_ fellow he needed to find right now. His ghoul, Cesare, told him that the man was now in Seattle, posing as a Toreador among the local Camarilla. Beckett didn't believe it but he decided to act upon this information provided by his ghoul, though Cesare was known to be wrong about some things. The ghoul was a former pilot who lost his job and his freedom after the light aircraft he was piloting while being drunk crashed on a farmhouse in the Midwest, killing a young girl. Sentenced to twelve years, Cesare's salvation would come from Beckett, as the Noddist needed a ghoul and considering it was easier to find a candidate already broken than go through the pain of breaking him himself. The Gangrel faked Cesare's suicide in prison and sprung him out, making him a ghoul and his personal pilot. Despite being a drunken fool, Beckett would come to care for his servant to a degree, tolerating him enough to allow him more freedom than it was usually given to ghouls by their domitors.

Reaching a mansion on the shore of Lake Union, Beckett approached its gates. One of the guards said:

"Who are you and what business do you have here?"

"My name is Beckett and I want to see the prince."

The guard nodded and opened the gate, escorting the Gangrel through the lavish gardens and into the mansion itself, an early 20th century building that once served as temporary haven to the famous Follower of Set Methuselah Nebmaatsutekh the Daywalker. Beckett wondered if the Setite's corruption still lingered in that place. Beckett's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a brown-haired pale man who drank his vitae from a crystal glass. _Typical Ventrue_ , Beckett thought, somehow disgusted by the prince's snobbery.

"Beckett. I was informed that you are here."

Beckett nodded and said:

"Yes. I arrived in your beautiful city tonight and I came to ask you permission to operate in your domain."

"I see. Well, I am always glad to have a Kindred of such worth in my city but, pray tell, what is here that is of so much importance to you?"

"Not much, really. I need to find someone, actually."

"Someone? Kine or Kindred?"

"Someone of our blood."

"I see. What did that person do to you? I must remind you that if you are pursuing a personal vendetta, the Camarilla must judge that Kindred first before you act upon your vengeful sentiments."

"Oh, no. He is actually a friend. A… Toreador."

"Oh? Which one?"

"He… goes by many names, as does most of our kind. I know only that he is here and he's a member of the Camarilla."

"Every vampire in this world is a member of the Camarilla, Beckett. Some choose not to adhere to our tenants but that doesn't make them less of a member in our organization."

Beckett frowned. If there was one thing he hated, it was the monopoly that the Camarilla imposes upon the Kindred world, considering each clan and bloodline to be a part of the organization even when the said clans and bloodlines have nothing but scorn and disgust towards the Camarilla. He calmed however and said:

"Well, if every vampire in this world is a member of the Camarilla, it seems I would have a hard time finding my friend. There are a lot of Toreadors in the world."

"They are. Tell me, by which name do you know your… friend?"

"I know him as Vladika."

"Vladika? That's hardly a name for a Toreador."

"Well, I am also hardly responsible for how his birth mother or his Kindred sire named him."

"True. Well, I am sorry to inform you but this Vladika is not in Seattle. I know each Toreador in my domain personally and I assure you, I would know if one of them would have a secret identity."

"I see. Thank you for your help, your Excellency. It seems I have to begin my search anew."

"Well, if that helps you, I allow you to operate in my domain. Hmm… a week might suffice?"

"More than enough. Thank you again."

The prince nodded and said to one of his attendants:

"Bring the boy here. Beckett, you have to try him. It's the sweetest thing you ever tasted."

After a while, the servant brought a young boy, no more than ten, and planted him before the two vampires. The prince gloated:

"Once you get a taste of him, you would want more. The purest, noblest stock."

Beckett looked at the boy with his glowing red eyes and noticed he was almost unconscious, not even the strength to cry left in him, all taken by the rapacious thirst of the prince. If the Gangrel would be human, he would have probably felt pity. He bit the boy's wrist and after a while, sealed his wound. It was true, the blood felt incredible, like liquid fire. Beckett wondered if the boy's blood wasn't doctored with by the vampires to increase its qualities.

"So, how was it?"

"It was quite the delight, your Excellency. Where did you find him?"

"Want to procure one for yourself? I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible. He is an only child. His parents, rich and powerful as they were, raised him with the greatest care. Twelve years they try to have a son, and after all that suffering, he was born."

Beckett frowned:

"And what devil made them part with the child if they loved him so?"

"Us."

The Gangrel understood. He didn't want to know more.

"If you have any more questions for me, I would be happy to answer. But if not, please, explore the city at your leisure. If you need accommodation, I can book you the penthouse at the Sheraton."

"No, thank you. I'll manage."

"Of course you will. You are Beckett after all. Good luck in your search. Please, escort Beckett outside."

After leaving the prince's mansion, Beckett walked for almost an hour. The rain continued to pour and the vampire's clothes were soaked. He eventually reached a nightclub whose owner, a vampire named Bruce, he knew. He entered the place, the _Ecstasy Club_ , and the first thing Beckett noticed was a man puking his guts on a table.

"You should lay off the booze, friend."

"F… fuck off, asshole…"

Beckett smiled and continued to walk towards the bartender. Despite the name of the club, the atmosphere inside was almost dead, with half the patrons passed away and the other half tripping like crazy, higher than a bird in flight. The music didn't help either. It was something called electro… or techno? Or something like this. Beckett enjoyed music but the new stuff didn't appeal to his more elevated taste. Reaching the bartender, an elderly woman with strident, purple makeup, he said:

"Good evening."

"How you're doing, babe? You're soaking wet."

"Well, it's rainy outside."

"Yeah. Weird. It doesn't rain much this time of the year, usually."

Beckett knew that too. It was a strange night, and a strange rain. He continued to speak to the bartender:

"I'm looking for Bruce. Is he here?"

"He's in the back."

"Thank you, Suzie."

"Wait, do I know you?"

Beckett removed his sunglasses and Suzie gasped:

"Beckett? Oh, my! It's been… years! Come here, hon."

The girl hugged the vampire and said:

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you!"

"I noticed that."

"Tonight was awful. A fledgling killed a girl in the bathroom, drained her dry. He was fucked, almost frenzied up. Bruce took him outside and beat the shit out of him."

"Tsk, tsk, youngsters."

"I think he was one of you, a Gangrel."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, he looked pretty young and he wasn't, you know, smooth and confident. I think he was sired recently and his sire took off, leaving the poor guy to learn the ropes himself."

"The curse of my clan. Well, I think he learned his lesson tonight: you don't kill while you feed, especially not in a bar."

Suzie smiled and said:

"Go on, speak to Bruce."

"Thanks, Suzie."

Beckett was intrigued by this young vampire. It was truly a strange night. A fledgling Gangrel loose in the middle of Seattle, a weird thunderstorm. _I was right to come here_ , he thought. The Noddist scholar knocked on the door of the office in the back. A voice said:

 _"_ _Come in"_.

Beckett entered the office to see a huge, pale man, with blue eyes, dressed in a strange, purple suit. The man said:

"Beckett. What the fuck?! I thought you were dead."

Bruce then extended his hand which Beckett shook:

"Well, no, at least not yet."

"So, refreshment?"

Beckett noticed two young blood girls sitting on a couch, too drugged to even keep their eyes open. He then replied:

"No, thank you. I… ate tonight."

"So, take a seat."

Beckett sat on the chair in front of Bruce's desk. He took off his wet hat, revealing his jet black hair. Bruce continued:

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Vladika."

"Why would Vladika be here?"

"Well, if I would know this, would I come here asking for his whereabouts?"

"The last time I spoke to him was… hmm… in LA, three months ago. He said he was travelling north but I didn't realize he would come here."

"Did he say why would he travel north?"

"Actually… yes, he did mention something about a cult."

"A cult? What kind of cult?"

"I don't know, man. You know fucking Vlad. He and his damned secrets."

"My ghoul told me he was posing as a Camarilla Toreador. I spoke to the prince and he told me he knew every Toreador."

"A fucking Toreador? That goddamned Malk? And how would he make anyone believe he was a bloody Torry? Fuck…"

"His choice of clan surprised me too but it's better than admitting to the prince his true blood. Where are the Toreadors gathering usually?"

"Oh… Basement of the Asian Art Museum. They're probably there, tonight."

"Thank you."

Before Beckett could leave, Bruce said to him:

"Be careful, Beckett."

The Gangrel nodded and put on his hat. After he said his farewell to Suzie, he continued on in the rain, walking the almost empty streets of Seattle. After half an hour, he saw the first humans since he left the club. There were two policemen, talking. Beckett could overhear them:

"Man, that fucking murder. What the fuck is wrong with people today?"

"Some serial killer, I tell you. Feds will be all over this, soon."

"I think they are fucking Satanists, man. Did you see those symbols on the walls? Written in blood… shit…"

"Oh, let's go grab a cold one. We need it, really."

 _Strange symbols, a murder…_

Beckett then approached the cops and decided to play along. He said:

"Excuse me, are you talking about that murder?"

"Jesus, it's already made the news? Of course it did…"

"So, you were at the crime scene?"

"Man, we can't really talk about it. It's an ongoing investigation. What can I tell you is that it was the most fucked up thing I've even seen, and in twenty years on the force, I've seen a lot."

The other cop said:

"Yeah, the entire neighborhood wanted to leave their homes tonight. The entire Maple Street. Can you imagine that?"

 _Maple Street…_

"Well, I hope you'll catch this guy. Man, this country becomes more and more dangerous."

"Yeah, all because of those fucking libs who try to eliminate the death penalty. I say we fry the fuckers who do shit like that."

Beckett nodded and left the cops behind.

 _I think this murder is more interesting than a Toreador gathering._

After another fifteen minutes, Beckett arrived at the crime scene. It was a house in the suburbia, not different than the others in the neighborhood. The police was all over the place. The Gangrel then took out his phone and called someone. A silky, womanly voice answered:

 _"_ _Yeah, Beckett?"_

"Hey, sweetheart. I was wondering: can you do me a favor?"

 _"_ _What favor?"_

"Wasn't the Police Chief your ghoul?"

 _"_ _He still is. Wait, are you in the city?"_

"Looking at that murder scene."

 _"_ _Do you think it's a vampire who did that?"_

"If you call your guy and tell him to call those guys here and tell them I'm some kind of special investigator from FBI or something, I would gladly answer your question."

 _"_ _Hold on, let's see what I can do."_

After ten minutes, the woman returned to the phone and said:

 _"_ _You're Adrian Crawford, FBI specialist in the occult. Go on. Call me afterwards, ok?"_

"I don't have a badge."

 _"_ _They won't ask you for one. Go on."_

"Thanks, you're the best."

Beckett approached the crime scene and one of the cops said:

"Please, move along, sir. This is an investigation."

"Well, I'm supposed to be here. Agent Crawford, FBI."

"Ah, the occult specialist. Chief called detective Morrison, said you were to arrive here. Follow me, sir."

Beckett entered the house alongside the cop. The Noddist said:

"I need some privacy, if you don't mind."

"Knock yourself out, sir. I wouldn't enter that living room again even if you pay me."

Beckett entered the living room and saw a horrifying thing: a young woman, naked, belly opened and intestines out, while the walls were covered in strange symbols drawn in blood. One of them intrigued Beckett: while the others were symbols usually associated with demonic worship, the other one was different: a triangle inside which was a sun. That symbol was very old, so old that it could be found only in the earliest works of Kindred literature. The room wasn't disturbed in any way, besides the eviscerated body of course, making the vampire believe the woman knew the murderer. Beckett approached the corpse and started to examine it:

 _Hmm… belly torn open, not cut. Not even a bit of precision. And what's this?_

Beckett noticed something resembling a caul between her legs.

 _Was she pregnant? Did the murderer want the baby? What for?_

Beckett removed the caul and put it in his coat.

 _It's better for them not to know she was pregnant, at least until the autopsy. A dead body is better than a dead body and a missing baby._

Beckett left the crime scene and a man asked him:

"Agent Crawford? I'm detective Nigel Morrison from Seattle PD. Can you please tell me what the fuck is that?"

"It's… definitely the work of a cult. I believe it's one who murdered that girl in Texas months ago. We try to catch the bastards but…"

"God help us all."

"They worship a dark god and sacrifice young women to him. Always different girls, always different cities. I will send you a report with all the details in the morning."

"Do that. Thank you, agent. Now, let's see how to explain this to the fucking press."

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, detective."

Beckett shook the cop's hand and disappeared again into the night, the rain continuing to fall on him, even colder than before. Thousands of thoughts invaded his mind, each worse than the one before. They were however interrupted by a voice:

"I heard you were looking for me."

Beckett turned his head towards the direction the voice was coming from. Just dumpsters and dirt. He then said:

"Enough with the Obfuscate jokes, Vladika. We need to talk."

"Well, we're talking. What do you want?"

Beckett frowned. Talking with the disembodied voice of his friend annoyed him but he decided to play along. It was easier to simply just do that with the Malkavians.

"I want you to tell me what the hell is going on. This city is brought almost to the point of madness."

"Ha, ha. Well, isn't madness the best?" the voice said, ignoring Beckett's frown. "What else is there?"

"Answers. Tell me, did you hear about that murder tonight?"

"Ah… I see. Now you turned detective. Well, tell me, detective, what did you discover?"

"There were cult symbols all over the room, drawn in blood. An infernalist cult, no doubt. Yet one symbol seems strange to me. An old symbol, a symbol of rebirth… a rebirth into the light."

"Oh, but there is more to this than just symbols, isn't it, Beckett?"

"It is. The woman was pregnant and the perp carved out the baby from her."

"Oh, yes, an impatient one. Just like a child… tossing away the Kinder egg just to take hold of the toy inside."

Beckett sighed:

"Do you know anything about this? I know you are here because you wanted to track down some kind of cult. Are there any connections?"

"Could be."

"Tell me about it."

"Not here. Meet me at this location."

A map fell from thin air right in Beckett's hand. An X marked a spot between Seattle and the Canadian border, somewhere in Alger. The Gangrel sighed and took out his phone, to call a cab.

Almost twenty minutes have passed since Beckett took the cab and the vampire started to get bored. The driver, an African American man named Sam, continued to talk, oblivious to the fact that his passenger was completely uninterested in his life story:

"Ah, man, and that fucking kid of mine. Wants to play the violin?! The fuckin' violin, like a fucking fag. I told him to train and to try to make the football team or something, the baseball team, not violin. That for fags."

Beckett sighed:

" _Fag_ , _fag_ , _fag_ … What do you have against gay guys? Did you have any… unpleasant experiences in federal penitentiary or something?"

"What? You motherfucker! Just because I'm black you think I've been to prison?"

"And just because your son plays the violin that makes him a fag?"

"What…?"

"Prejudice cuts both ways, friend."

"Fuck prejudice, man! I don't want no son of mine to be a pansy ass fruit. I'd kill him for that, really."

"You don't know if he's gay. He just likes violin."

"And that means he's fag."

"Again with the fag shit?"

"What? You're some kind of social justice warrior or so? You like fags or what?"

"Frankly, I don't care who or what a man likes to fuck. Anyway, you should be grateful social justice exists. Without it, you would still shine shoes or work some plantation in Mississippi for no pay… well, besides the whip lashes on your back."

"Oh, that's it, you fucking bastard!"

Sam pulled over and left the cab, wanting to beat Beckett but when he opened the rear door, the backseat was empty. Just a $100 bill awaited him.

"At least the fucker pays well."

The vampire smirked as he walked the last mile towards farm outside Alger, Washington that was marked on the map. He could still hear the cab driver curse before arriving. A small house with covered windows awaited him. Beckett could feel his blood becoming hotter. Sam really angered him. But he decided that night is not for killing, at least not more than it already was. He entered the house and said:

"Vladika?"

A bald man with mismatched eyes, one blue and one green, approached him from behind:

"Beckett."

"You're faster than me and I came here."

"I am."

"It's almost dawn. The entire night you led me on this wild goose chase. Tell me about this cult."

Vladika nodded and invited Beckett to enter the basement, which had a wall covered with newspaper articles, map, pictures, graphs and strange symbols. The Gangrel smirked. His friend Vladika was an old Malkavian who was touched by the curse of his blood in a simple yet so decisive way: he was obsessed with uncover secrets, ranging from solving simple Rubik's cubes to murder mysteries and even archaeology. Beckett met him in 1925 in Egypt after the Malkavian stole a ritual book from a haven of the Followers. After Beckett saved him, Vladika acted like an information broker for the Gangrel, having a spy network that rivaled even that of the Nosferatu. The Malkavian said, while pointing at a map of the United States:

"There were three murders, yeah. One in New Orleans, another in Cedar Rapids, Iowa and the third, well… you saw the third. Each of these murders had the same symbols painted on the walls and each of them also had that weird symbol you said you saw. Each victim was a pregnant woman and each woman had her child ripped out from her. Each of them bled to death… naturally, if that can be said, through their wound. Nobody drank from them."

"Whoever did that had enough discipline to resist the urge to feed but enough clumsiness to simply just… tear out those women's abdomen. There was no precision in their work."

"Indeed."

"Did you uncover what those symbols mean?"

Vladika then pointed out to another wall:

"It's a demonic invocation. A loose translation would be _I beseech thee to consume this mortal's soul_. Not the most creative one, but still… Anyway, I travelled to Iowa while my ghoul went to New Orleans and I managed to capture a Brujah infernalist."

"Good. What did he tell you?"

"It was a she and no, she didn't tell me anything because she was killed by your precious hunter childe!"

"What? Marie? She was in Iowa?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, probably following my known associates trying to track me down. Good girl."

"Your good girl fucked up my investigation. Why the hell would you bring someone like that into the Blood?"

Beckett closed his eyes and remembered what happened and how a hunter would come to be one of the Gangrel. Marie was born in 1918, just after World War I. Her mother was a French singer while her father was German and would later become a close associate of Himmler. Marie was raised from a young age with knowledge of the supernatural and with a hatred for vampires, who in 1927 killed several SS officers, her father included. Marie then became one of the best hunters the Nazis had. Eventually, in 1944, Marie tracked down the Cainites who did this and killed them, not knowing that one of them was a childe of Aristotle, Beckett's mentor and adoptive sire. Beckett found Marie in Berlin in 1945, after Germany capitulated and kidnapped her, bringing her outside of the city where a pack of Sabbat vampires were slaughtering captured soldiers. The hunter managed to kill them but was severely injured in the process. Before Beckett could finish her off, she shot her crossbow at the Gangrel's shoulder. That moment, the Noddist was somewhat impressed by the girl's courage and desire to survive at any cost. Not long after that, he took her mortal life, giving her his blood and raising her as his childe. Not wanting to be like the other sires of his clan, Beckett told her what to do to survive as a vampire and also told her to find him but it would be extremely hard for her to do so. Now, it seems she was close.

"What the hell? Pay attention!"

"I was thinking about Marie. You asked me why I Embraced her. Well, it was something about her that made me… want to see more."

"Then you should have taken her right there and then kill her, not dragging her into our world. A hunter with vampire blood…"

"Marie isn't our problem now, Vladika."

"She is, considering she killed the only lead I had!"

"What did you ghoul find out in New Orleans?"

"Nothing. The Camarilla screamed all blood rage, wanting to find the bastard, but they found nothing."

Beckett then looked at the pictures and the maps, trying to put together a working strategy, but it was strange for him. He was a historian not a detective but searching for clues was an important part of his work as an archeologist. He then said:

"Where are you going to?"

"North of the border."

"Do you really think Siegfried would let you of all people enter his saintly Vancouver? He's in a war, if I remember correctly and he doesn't take to kindly to Malkavians coming to his city."

"Fuck Siegfried. I go there to see Necross."

Beckett smirked and said:

"You raving Lunatic… you want to enter the Library, aren't you? I'm coming with you."

"No, you go elsewhere."

"And where that might be?"

Vladika pointed his bony finger at Jamaica.

"Great. You get to enter the greatest repository of knowledge in the New World and I have to tread through Samedi country to do… what?"

"Today, I had a dream. A white woman, pregnant with child. Go and retrieve her."

"Well, can she be pregnant with something else?"

"Listen! She is in danger. Cultists? Probably. Samedi? Probably. Retrieve her."

"Vlad, there are how many pregnant white women in Jamaica? How would I know…?"

"Shh… Black hair, long."

"A white woman with long black hair in Jamaica… Why couldn't be a Jewish lesbian in Tehran? That would be easier to find."

"That's no lesbian, Beckett. She's pregnant."

"That's not a problem."

"What?"

"Well, welcome to the 21st century, Vladika."

"Will you go? It's important."

Beckett sighed:

"I spent the last weeks trying to track you down while you eluded me. What if I didn't come?"

"But you came."

"I guess I have to play the part of your pawn again."

"You jest, Gangrel, but… I felt it in my dreams, in the night's sky, in this lurid thunder, in this languid rain. Something is wrong."

The way Vladika said _Something is wrong_ sent chills down Beckett's dead spine. He travelled with Malkavians in the past and he learned that their insight is more often than not frighteningly accurate. If a Malkavian like Vladika, one of the saner ones, if that could be said about Lunatics, tells you something is wrong, then it's wrong. The Gangrel said:

"Fine, I'll call Cesare to pick me up. Leave the door open so that he can take out the coffin. I hope you got coffins here, right?"

"Let's go below. I'll set you up the basement."

In the basement, Beckett entered a lead coffin. As the morning approached, Beckett felt the pull of the dark sleep. It was a strange night, but one that set him on another path, a path he hoped would not lead to his demise.


End file.
